


Catch It!

by girlintheglen



Series: Quickies ... Under 1000 Words [13]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Baseball, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: The image in the story was a promotional tool from the 70's, but I've borrowed it for the story because it's just too good to ignore.





	Catch It!

 

_"Throw him a curve ball you @#*%!! nogoodwasheduphasbeen!"_

The big man in the plaid shirt was red faced from exasperation, his team appeared to be having difficulties. Illya Kuryakin tried to ascertain the meaning of what was going on around him, but so far baseball had eluded him. It was a precise game, depending on a finesse from the pitcher that was challenged by strength and perception on the part of the batter. He did not, unfortunately, know what a curve ball was, so left it to someone else to console the fan with the tawdry tongue. He seemed to be wearing the wrong hat though, explaining his angst over the current situation.

Illya was in jeans and a tee shirt, his hair beneath a dark blue cap emblazoned with the letters of the home team. While not genuinely a fan of the Yankees, he was at the moment anticipating the man everyone talked about: Mickey Mantle.

Napoleon had assured him that the game would be worth his time, and certainly with Mantle in the line up, something was sure to happen that would impress the taciturn Russian. He still thought the game somehow less impressive than soccer ( _yeah, he knew it was called football everywhere else_ ), or, god forbid, cricket. Napoleon had endured that one on several occasions, and was always relieved to come home to a real game, especially one in the Bronx.

Napoleon Solo was a Yankees fan, tried and true. The exodus of the Dodgers had been a blow to the city, but he couldn't really fault anyone for choosing to live on the West Coast, with year round beautiful weather and lots of girls in bikinis… He got lost in that thought and the accompanying imagery until the crack of a bat produced a noise amplified by thirty thousand cheering people.

Illya jumped to his feet to watch the ball fly out over left field and into the stands, the figure of the famous Number Seven rounding all the bases as he resolutely made his way to home plate. The bench emptied out as all of his teammates congratulated their teammate, jubilant at what would be the game winning run.

Illya found it all fairly exciting, and the skill he acknowledged as something not within his own arsenal of tricks and talents. Thinking on it, he wondered if he might take lessons.

"So what do you think Illya? Ready for season tickets?" Napoleon was proud of the game, of his team and the experience he had just shared with his friend.

"I enjoyed it, and find the challenge of playing at this level of skill something to be …' He paused, the look on Napoleon's face a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"I could learn, perhaps." They both chuckled at that. Then again, working for UNCLE, one never knew what the next assignment might bring. He might not be able to hit like Mantle, but the idea of suiting up and running out onto that big green field was suddenly very appealing.

"I think I might have caught it." Napoleon looked at his friend with his head cocked to one side. He was never sure if Illya was joking or serious.

"Caught what? The ball?" A small shake of the blond head was all that he received in response.

"What did you mean, you might have caught it?" Uh oh, now he'd embarrassed the new agent. Whose idea was it, coming to a baseball game? Oh wait, it was his.

"Illya, I'm sorry, I just don't know what you're…' Just then someone passed by wearing a tee shirt with a slogan that would become synonymous with the game.

"Oh, I get it now. Sure, you caught it, and I bet you'd be good at _playing_ the game as well. What are you doing tomorrow?" They would have the entire day off, and Napoleon knew just what to do with it.

Illya looked suspicious, but he decided to take a chance.

"Nothing, why do you ask?"

"There's a bunch of guys who get together and play a little baseball on Sunday afternoons. I don't think they'd mind if we showed up and joined in. What do you say?"

Illya was hesitant and yearning for the opportunity, all at the same time. He did want to learn how to play baseball, it suited his natural athleticism.

"I would like that very much. Thank you. And, thank you for bringing me to the game. I guess whoever caught that home run ball feels like he's holding something made out of gold." Imagine having the strength to hit a ball so far … Yes, he would learn how to play baseball. With his eyes back on the game, the joy of the crowd infused his own enjoyment of it, so much so that he found himself on his feet yelling at the top of his lungs.

**"Throw him a curve!"**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The image in the story was a promotional tool from the 70's, but I've borrowed it for the story because it's just too good to ignore.


End file.
